Everything in my brain, extreme edition

I just cut my hair with cuticle scissors: extreme. I couldn’t take it anymore. I’m only ever brave enough to wear my hair short when I feel slim. My hair is still down to my waist.

My first real love used to call me “slim” as a nickname. We met at fat camp. He died recently of a heart attack while out for a run with his dog. He was in his mid-40s. This is why I don’t exercise.

Before this pandemic, Phil was evaluated to be put on the heart-transplant list. He tested positive for a genetic mutation. In April the kids were scheduled for genetic tests, but now we’re shut-ins who go nowhere. No mammograms, no orthodontist, no tests, no results.

I rarely ate breakfast, and lunch wasn’t always a given. Pre-covid, I could wait until 1:30pm before a growl hit the scene. I’d suck up an Americano on my commute, occasionally supplement with a cup of black coffee, and that would be the whole of it. If I got hungry, I’d hit up Chop’t for an overpriced Cobb salad with Mama Lil’s Peppers (my fave). I’d be good until dinner, when we’d meet as a family, sharing one meal a day.

Time is marked in meals now. Everything is about what we’re eating next, what we need to use before it goes bad. I should post the kitchen inventory I created, listing every last thing I have in our pantry. It’s exhaustive. So many options that I shut down and opt for All-bran Buds.

Last night’s dinner was a taste-test between Krusteaz Belgium Waffle Mix and my homemade (non-yeasted) waffles, where the key ingredient was cornstarch for a crisp exterior and silky chewy center. My go-to recipe is overnight yeasted waffles, for their flavor and texture, but the “breakfast for dinner” begging didn’t start until 3pm. So, cornstarch waffles were the go. They were also the winner by far.

Abigail used my fancy powder sugar shaker, and the lid came undone, powder sugar mountain on her plate. I do not regret a single kitchen gadget. All of them are deeply loved by me. In particular, I’m very fond of our butter crock, even though I no longer consume butter. I love the suggestion of the life lived in a home with a butter crock. It’s a hint of a life where strawberry rhubarb pies are left to cool on sills.

Eating only when I’m hungry takes practice. Stopping once my body has enough food is harder. Killing off the multitasking and eating mindfully without any distractions is a kill-joy. No eating on the sofa kills me. Get comfortable with the uncomfortable. In lieu of snacks, I’ve been drawing, as evidenced by the featured image of this post.

I’m focusing on eating 40 grams of fiber each day because soluble fiber sops up LDL cholesterol. Because I don’t want to be eating all the time, I try to focus on high-fiber foods. You know, like waffles?

Without a deep-dive history, in terms of Phil’s heart health, I’ll say just this: he is on a low-sodium diet. I’m not. I married a man who is my opposite in nearly every way: extreme. I wear my hair curly: extreme. I did the keto diet once upon a time: extreme. You remove carbs, you add fat. Now that I’m reducing my saturated fat, I lean into fruit. It feels extreme. Mangoes every single night. Oatmeal. Bananas. It’s heavenly. And I gained no weight when making the switch, which was shocking.

But. But then the pandemic. Now, waffles and brownies and chocolate chip cookies. All hell has broken loose. I’m up four pounds since March 1. I haven’t been focused on maintaining my weight. I haven’t much cared. Instead of focusing on what cholesterol-lowering concoctions I can bake, I’m searching my cookbooks for “ripe banana” recipes.

Today, I’m considering hooking my fancy digital wireless scale up with an app that will announce to the world my weight each morning, for accountability. Extreme.

In my world, I haven’t gained the Freshman 15 – I’ve gained the COVID 19. My eating habits haven’t changed much, but drinking a bottle of champagne each day we don’t get the virus seems to be affecting my waistline. However, I’m not willing to give it up! Celebrate each moment.

Love your artwork. I just started my quarantine-learning-watercolor phase. It’s harder than I thought! Also splurged on a new quarantine kitchen gadget, because why not? A Breville Smoke Infusion Gun = Smoked Popcorn. :-) Just sayin’.